|
|
So I was all, like, we need to write the PubNight e-mail, and Rebecca was all, like, I'm sorry, but I'm going to be busy all day, you know, and I'm all, like, dude, weak, and Cindy was all, like, not replying, and stuff, and I'm, like, Oh No You Di'nt, and my high school grammar teacher, like, rolled over in her grave, and I was all, like, cool, and then someone reading this, like, slapped me, and I stopped trying so hard to be funny and just wrote the damn e-mail.
For some unknown reason we have not been back to Chumley's in four years, or 199 PubNights--our last time was #250, the last multiple of 50 that we did not spend at Hell. (And it's time to start pondering where the next one's gonna be, because Hell has gone to heaven.) As I've somehow never made it to this West Village mainstay at all, I think this should be remedied immediately.
Like, see you there!
-Mike, Rebecca, Cindy and Jenny